Defying
by nutella4923
Summary: Jackson Whittemore's little sister Isabelle, has always been perfect. Perfect grades, perfect friends, perfect life - until one tiny imperfection comes to light. Isabelle Katie Whittemore is immune to death. Season 2
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Home Sweet Home

"Dammit, Jackson!" I mutter under my breath, but the woman in front of me at the luggage carousal hears me anyways, and sends me a reproachful look. The San Francisco airport in crammed full of people (as per usual). A man in a business suit spilled his coffee on me, an elderly lady mistook me for her granddaughter and now Jackson is late picking me up. I tap my foot impatiently and wait for my luggage to come down the luggage ramp (because, of course my bad luck has caused my luggage to be lost).

I fidget and check my phone for the second time in the last minuet. 9:52. Jackson was supposed to be here to pick me up almost two hours ago. He is supposed to drive me back to Beacon Hills, but at this rate, I'll be here all night. It's not even a long drive, and plus, he drive a Porsche!

I am just about to ask after my luggage again when it FINALLY appears at the top of the luggage ramp. I grab it, check the luggage tag and head towards the door. I glance up at the overhead clock display. 10:03. Grabbing my phone from the pocket my now coffee stained jacket, I call Jackson. It goes right to voice mail.

"This is Jackson. I couldn't be bothered to pick up the phone. Don't leave a message."

I roll my eyes at that. Of course even Jackson's voice mail makes him sound like a jerk.

"Hey Jackass, this is Isabelle. I swear to God if you're not here in the next twenty minuets, I'm taking a cab home." I say, and then hang up. I head towards a bathroom and spend the next fifteen minuets trying to get the coffee stain out of my favorite green jacket. After spending so much time scrubbing it that my fingers have wrinkled up, I decide that my jacket has reached the end of its life. I stuff it into my backpack and head back out to the main hallway. I pull out my phone to check the time (10:36) and call a cab.

By the time I arrive at the Whittemore family mansion, It's almost midnight. The cab driver lets me out in our driveway and I grab my bags from the back. The driver peels away from the house the second I have the trunk of the car closed. Earlier today when I told him I wanted to go to Beacon Hills, he nearly fainted.

"Ah, miss, there has been twelve murders there in the past year, are you sure that is your destination?" He twisted his hands together as he spoke, a look of pale, sweaty nervousness on his face.

"Uh, yeah I'm sure that's my destination. I live there!"

Now, standing in my driveway, watching the cabs taillights fade in the distance, I shake my head. There can't have actually been twelve murders in one semester... right? I shudder at the idea and turn to head inside.

The house is totally empty. I mean, It's not like I expected David or Marnie to be home, but usually, Jackson at least texts me before taking off like this. I pull out my phone. Still not even a text message from Jackson. I set my bags down in the foyer and go to check the refrigerator for a note. Nothing. Then I check the garage. Unfortunately, his car is gone. I sigh in annoyance. I guess he really did just forget to pick me up.

Usually, I wouldn't worry to much about Jackson disappearing unannounced for extended periods of time. He's been doing it ever since he found his original birth certificate when he was eleven. I mean, I'm adopted to, but at least one of my parents are still alive. (Well, my mum is, But she's in jail for drug smuggling. Whatever). Jackson never really got over the fact that Marnie and David kept it a secret from him. It really changed him, and not for the better. I've gotten used to the long absences and moody behavior, but somehow, this time it feels different. I have a horrible, sinking sensation that something has happened to him. In one last attempt to find him, I call his best friend, Danny.

"Hey, Danny. It's Isabelle."

"Yeah, I recognized the number. Why the hell are you calling me at past midnight? I was sleeping". He sounds more that a little annoyed. I feel immediately guilty. Out of all of Jacksons friends, Danny is the only one I can stand to be around.

"Sorry Danny, It's just... Uh, well, Jackson never showed up to take me home from the airport. He's not responding to texts, his cars gone, it looks like he never came home. I just can't help but feel like somethings wrong."

Danny gives a snort of exasperation. "Well, his girlfriend, Lydia, you remember her, right?"

"Yup"

"Well, she was mauled by some sort of wild animal after the formal last night. She's in the hospital right now. While the paramedics were loading her into the ambulance, Jackson took off in his car with some other guys, and I haven't heard from him since."

I sit quietly for a moment, soaking in that information. "Who was he with, I mean, who did he leave the formal with?"

"Stiles Stillinski"

"Who?" I have vague feeling of recognition at the name, but have honestly no idea who he is.

Danny snickers at my obvious confusion "He's a bench player on the lacrosse team. Practically inseparable from Scott McCall. You used to call them twitchy and puppy dog in fourth grade"

I have a sudden memory of the two. "Isn't Stilinski, like, obsessed with Lydia?"

"Yep, that would be him." We spend few moments laughing at the memory of Lydia's face when Stiles fumblingly asked her on a date in eighth grade.

"Thanks Danny. If you hear from Jackson, text me. I just need to know that he's not dead in a ditch somewhere".

"Sure thing". he says, before hanging up.

I sigh in exasperation, and then start to drag my bag up the stairs to my room. My room takes up the whole top floor of the house. In truth, the walls are unfinished wood, and the floor is just bare wood covered in area rugs, so it's more like an attic than a bed room, but I like it that way. In one of the walls there is a huge window that looks out over the whole town. All the tiny lights, surrounding the large dark spot that is the preserve. My bed and closet are sort of sectioned off to one side with billowy curtains, and all my art supplies and easels are in another corner. There's a sort of lounge area with an old couch and large pillows in the corner closest to the stairs. A full length mirror hangs on the wall by my art supplies, which is great, considering I'm so tall, that most mirrors cut of the top of my head. No one in my family, except for occasionally Jackson (he totally has a soft spot for art, but he would never tell anyone that) come upstair to my room, so it's like a little personal paradise.

I love my room, but I don't stop to admire it today. I'm so tired that I collapse onto the couch without even changing, and fall right asleep. My last thought before sleep claims me is that there is what looks like a fire, burning deep into the preserve.

 _Authors Note:_

 _This is my first time attempting to write fan fiction, so if you are reading this, I would really appreciate feed back. I don't mind negative reviews, since I need feedback, both positive and negative, to improve._

 _So obviously I don't own Teen Wolf, and I have only inserted a couple of other characters in. Isabelle, and a few of the characters that help fill out her part of the story line are of my own creation. Other than that, everything belongs to the producers, writer and creators of Teen Wolf!_

 _Thank you so much for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Awakening

I am awakened early in the morning by the sound of the door opening. I walk quietly down the stairs, trying not to wake whoever else might be home. The sight that meets my eyes at the bottom of the stairs, is a shock, to say the least. Jackson stands in the entryway, shivering. His hair and clothing are damp, and there is a HUGE gaping hole in his t-shirt.

"Jackson?" I say quietly, from the stairs. His head jerks up abruptly.

"Isabelle! What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in New York with your Grandmother!" His eyes are wide with surprise.

"No, Jackson. You were supposed to pick me up from the airport last night at 7:00! Where the hell were you?" I'm really angry now, I'm yelling and I can practically feel my self shaking. "I called you half a dozen times last night. I called Danny, I called Marnie at her conference in Paris! No one knows where you were last night. The one time some one actually asks you to do something, to be responsible, you blow it off! What the hell is wrong with you?"

He looks at his feet. At least he has the grace to be a bit embarrassed. "I was at the formal".

I look at him incredulously. "Like hell you were. Come on Jackson, just tell me. Were you at the hospital with Lydia? Were you at an after party? Were you even in the state? It's not like I could possible get any more mad at you, just spit it out".

Jackson just shakes his head and moves to push past me to the stairs. "Wait, I take that back. You just made me more mad than I already am". Jackson turns back to me.

"I'm Sor..."

"No your not! If you actually cared about me or anything related to me, you would just tell me the goddamn truth!" I interrupt him. "You left me, stranded, hours from home, because you wanted to do something that you thought was more important than me." I turn and run back upstairs to my room.

"Wait, I'm sorry! Wait, Isabelle, stop! I'm sorry I forgot to pick you up!" Jackson calls after me, but I'm already long gone. Once I get upstairs, I collapse onto the couch and start to cry.

By the time I collect my self, it is almost noon. I pull myself off the couch and drag my self towards my closet. I pull on a pair of sweat pants and a sports bra then I put my hair into a ponytail. I pause for a second in front of the mirror. I know it's kinda vain, but I always really like the way I look. I have light brown hair that comes to about elbow length and pale green-grey eyes that are kind off unusual looking. I'm really tall, a tiny bit taller that Jackson, and pretty muscular for a girl. Since we aren't blood related, Jackson and me obviously don't look very similar, but people tend to tell us that we act very similarly. Nature vs. nurture, I guess. I take the stairs two at a time and head out the front door for a jog.

The weekend passes relatively uneventfully, asides from Lydia's disappearance (Ok, maybe that's not exactly 'uneventfully', but that's beside the point). I spend most of my time avoiding Jackson, which isn't exactly difficult considering he's never home. On Monday morning I wake up early and work on my latest painting for a little while before getting ready for school. It's an abstract rendition of the Golden Gate Bridge on a foggy morning.

I get so caught up in my painting, I don't notice Jackson enter the room until he's right behind me.

"Hey" he says. I am so startled, I nearly put my hand through the canvas.

"Dammit, Jackson!" I start. "You scared the crap out of me!".

"Sorry" he says, sounding genuinely concerned. "I just wanted to know if you need a ride".

"No" my annoyance at him is starting to edge it's way into my voice again. "I can walk, thank you very much" I say sarcastically. "Now, get lost".

Jackson roles his eyes. "I'll be waiting in the car".

Fifteen minutes later, I slide silently into the back seat of his Porsche. He gives me a lopsided smirk in the rear view mirror and squeals out of our driveway. All the way to the school, Jackson drives like he's trying to find new and creative ways to get himself killed. He runs three red lights and almost hits a fire hydrant. He zooms past a little old lady crossing the street, so close the car brushes the front of her walker.

"Holly hell, Jackson! You just about killed her!" I exclaim loudly, an expression of pure shock on my face.

Jackson just smirks. "Key word 'almost', baby sis. No actually killing took place". I shake my head in disbelieve.

When we finally arrive at the school, I feel like my insides have been scrambled. Jackson peels into the parking lot, cutting of a girl in a blue Honda, before turning into a parking spot right by the front door.

I climb out of the car, and look over to Jackson. He has an oddly smug look on his face. I roll my eyes at his attitude and start to head towards the school.

"Nice car" I jump in surprise and turn to see a homeless guy digging around in the trash can. Jackson diggs a wallet out of his pocket.

"Here take a dollar and go find another parking lot to die in" Jackson says with a sneer, before turning to head in the other direction.

I turn to the guy. "Sorry about my brother. He can be a real ass." The guy just stares at me like I have sprouted antlers. I shake my head. "Never mind", I say and head towards the school.

I part ways from Jackson in the front hall and head towards the main office. The lady behind the desk is a forty something with poorly dyed hair.

"Hello dear. Is there anything I can do for you today?" She says, with a huge smile.

"My name's Isabelle Whittemore, I missed the first few months of school, so I still need a locker and schedule".

"Oh, of course!" The lady says in an incredibly annoying voice. She rifles through some papers on her desk. She finally pulls out a few papers and hands them to me. "The top one is your schedule, the second one is your locker info and the last few are just some transcripts from your school in New York". I thank her and start towards the door, when she calls out one last thing.

"Oh, one last thing dear. The principal will probably call you down in the next couple days. Something about an inconsistency on the transcripts". I mentally groan. I know exactly what the 'inconsistency' is. At my last school, I missed several weeks of classes, so of course it would show up on my transcript.

I push the thought from my mind and head towards my first class, chemistry with Mr. Harris, who still has a grudge against me for accidentally setting a garbage can on fire last year. What a great way to start off a day.

I knock on the door to the classroom, and wait. It is at least five minutes before Harris opens the door.

"Ah, Miss Whittmore, late on your first day. You're making brilliant first impressions." He says, not even bothering to disguise the sarcasm in his voice. I resist the urge to glower at him and make my way to an empty spot next to Danny and Jackson. Mr. Harris begins to hand out pop quizzes, and I groan. Could this day get any worse?

 _Authors Note - I'm going to try to and get into a more regular updating schedule, but since I'm busy at the moment, that might be a bit difficult. I am going to aim to update one a week, probably on the weekends._

 _Well anyways, Thank you for reading, and please review!_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Old Friends

Mr. Harris spends the next five minuets lecturing us about how we are all going to fail the pop quiz, before finally letting us start. It takes me only a few seconds to realize I have no idea how to do the problems. I guess this is what I get for skipping class at my last school - I can't remember anything. I mean, how the heck am I supposed to remember the periodic table from heart?

Scott and what's-his-face with the weird name are sitting right in front of me, talking in what they probably hope are hushed whispers, and it's not exactly helping with my concentration.

"This is a pop quiz, Mr. Stilinski," Mr. Harris says, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "If I hear your voice again, I may be tempted to give you detention for the rest of your high school career."

Stiles, as I have just remembered his name is, stares up at Mr. Harris, his mouth gaping open a bit. "Can you do that?"

"Well there it is again, your voice, triggering the only impulse I have ever had to strike a student violently and repeatedly." Jackson starts to laugh now, and Mr. Harris glares at him. "I'll see you at three for detention, Mr. Stilinski."

I can't help but snicker at the gapping expression of Stiles' face, as I turn my attention back to my quiz. A few minuets later, I am startled out of my concentration by Danny exclaiming, "Dude, your nose!" I glance up to see what he's talking about, and sure enough, blood, black blood, is dripping from Jackson's nose.

"What the heck?" I gasp, as Jackson plugs his nose and sprints out the classroom door. I am up in a second, running after him, ignoring Mr. Harris yelling at me to stay put.

Jackson ducks into a bathroom at the end of the hall, and I come to a stop out side the door. I can hear him crashing around inside, so I sit down next to he door, and wait for him to come back out. I can hear voices inside now, yelling, but can't quite make out what they are saying.

"Jackson! You alright in there?" I yell into the bathroom.

The banging a scuffling sounds stop for a moment, and a long moment of silence stretches out, before Jackson calls out in a muffled voice, "Yeah, I'm fine. Go back to class."

I stand up from where I was sitting, a bit confuse with what the hell is happening. I start back towards class, when out of the corner of my eye, I see the back of a guy dressed in a leather jacket duck out of the bathroom and disappear into the other hallway.

When I get back to class, Mr. Harris is waiting outside the classroom door, scowling in m direction. "What part of 'say put' is too hard your you to understand?" he yells at me. "Detention today, after school."

A lunch, I find that only one of my friends, Issac Lahey, still goes to the school. My best friend, Lauren, was sent to boarding school after her parents found pot in her room, and our mutual friend, Cait, moved away for her Dad's job. Issac and me sit together in companionable silence, eating at our usual table near the back of the table. It's not like we are losers, we're just not part of the popular group. We used to have our own group of friends, but since Cait and Lauren left, apparently, our group has sort of fallen apart. Issac seems to be the only one who hasn't found a new group. Speaking of Issac, there is something off about him today.

"Please tell me your not on drugs." I plead.

Issac gives me a look. "Of course not! Why would you think that?"

I feel immediately bad for asking, seeing the hurt look on his face. "Your'e just acting differently today, that's all." Issac seems to forgive me, and I start to ask him to come over to my place after school, but then remember that I have detention. On the first day back. Screw you Mr. Harris.

Later, when me and Stiles are sitting silently in the detention room, I wish with all my heart that Mr. Harris would drop dead. I almost feel bad for thinking that, but then again, not really. The clock seems to be ticking slower and slower with ever second that goes by. The second the hour hand touches four, I'm out of me seat and to the door, Stiles a few steps behind me.

"Sit," orders Mr. Harris. I glance back towards the clock in confusion. "Not you, Miss Whittemore, you can go." I slowly make my way towards the door, as Stiles and Mr. Harris start to argue. The moment I'm out of the classroom, I sprint for my locker, grab my backpack, and head out the front doors.

On the way home, I pass the graveyard. There is a huge crowd of camera men and spectators crowded around a grave site. Unable to reign in my curiosity, I jog towards the crowd. I duck around a couple of people, and thank God that I'm tall, because there is no way I could make it to the front of the crowd if I needed to. As it is, I can see over everybody's heads, and have a clear view of what's happening. A girl that I recognize from school, and what must be her family, are crowded around a grave site. Several men that look like security guards, are crowded around the family, and nearer to the media circus, a group of police officers enforce a rope line holding the crowds back.

On the far side of the grave site, I can just see some ones head poking out from behind a grave stone. What sort of idiot does...? Never mind, it's Scott McCall. He and Stilinski are always doing stupid crap.

I turn to a man I recognize as George, the local grocery store owner and ask, "What the heck is all the media attention for?" George looks at me oddly.

"Haven't you heard? This is the funeral for the lady who killed all those people, and burned down the Hale house all those years ago."

I see red. This is the woman who burnt down the house? "Well thank God she's dead," I snarl, much to the confusion of George. I turn on my heel, and stalk away from the crowd.

 _Authors note - Sorry for not updating in so long! I'm trying to create a more regular writing schedule now that I have kind of committed to writing this. Thanks for reading, and please review!_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Blood

The next morning, I wake up to the sound of a television blaring downstairs. Since I got perhaps an hour of sleep last night, because Jackson was coughing the whole time, I'm absolutely exhausted. Groaning in annoyance, I drag myself out of bed and find a pair of jeans to pull on. David is probably home from whatever court case he was just working. "David?" I call on my way down the stairs. "Is that you?"

When I get no response from him, I hurry down the rest of the stairs and into the living room. At first glance, the room appears empty, until I round the corner and see Jackson laying dejectedly on the couch.

"Are you all right?" I ask. He looks up at me, startled to see me.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"Well you sure as hell don't look fine! Your skin is practically green!" I exclaim. And it's true. His skin has an unhealthy looking sheen, and dark circle have formed beneath his eyes.

"I guess I'm a bit sick," he says, dragging himself off of the couch. "Go get ready for school Izzy. I don't need you fussing over me."

"Okaaay, if you say so," I say, turning slowly away from him and heading back up the stairs. I slip into the sort of run down bathroom attached to the far side of my room, take a quick shower, and french braid my hair. I find an olive green t-shirt in my closet, and throw it on along with light wash jeans and a leather jacket. It takes me more time than I'd care to admit to find my backpack. Apparently I threw it on top of my bookshelf last night.

Once I'm ready, I sit in the kitchen, waiting for Jackson to drive me to school. After calling out to him several times, and receiving no answer, I decide I'm going to have to walk to school. On the way out the front door, I notice a little finger-sized smudge of some sort of back liquid on the door. Tired as I am, It takes a moment for it to soak in. When I finally realize what it is, the information hits me like a brick. That's blood!

Jackson. I rush up to his room, throw open the door, and stop abruptly. The whole floor is littered with tissues soaked in black blood. And it reeks of iron and salt. I gag and turn to throw up in a nearby garbage can.

"Jackson!" I call out in a bit of a panic. "Jackson!" When I get no response, I do a quick check of the whole house. He's gone, along with his car. Once I calm down a bit, I realize that, if he was well enough to drive he's probably alright.

I head out the front door, pulling my phone from my back pocket. I call Isaac first, but it goes directly to voice mail. Next I call Danny who tells me he has no idea where Jackson is. Now that the shock and worry has begun to wear off, I start to get angry. The ass! For the second time in three days, he has seemingly disappeared off the face of the planet.

I run across the street to Isaacs house, and pound on the door. His bike, and his Dads car are both missing from the front yard. Perhaps he has just left for school already. It seems unusual though, because almost every morning since I moved here six years ago, he has waved to me on my way out to school. I sigh in annoyance, and resigned, start on my walk to school.

It takes me nearly twenty minuets to get to school, and by then I'm already almost late. I take a side entrance in hopes of avoiding another detention, but instead run right into Lydia and the new girl. "Oh! Hey Lydia!"

Lydia offers me a small smile. "I didn't know you were back in town!"

I smile back. "Yep, got back from New York three days ago."

"This is Allison, by the way," she says, gesturing to the new girl. "She moved here from San Fransisco at the start of the year."

"Cool!" I say. "I'm Isabelle Whittemore, Jacksons little sister."

Allison looks genuinely confused. "Jackson never mentioned a sister."

I sigh in annoyance. "Of course he didn't. Well nice to meet you anyways, but I got to get to class. Bye Lydia!"

On the way to English class, I have the extreme misfortune of running into Mr. Harris, who, of course, sends me right to the office. As I round the corner to the main office, I immediately notice that several police officers have gathered outside of the doors. I sit down apprehensibly in one of the uncomfortably lumpy chairs in front of the office, and try to look nonchalant. One of the younger officers, a tall skinny guy with brown hair glances over his shoulder at me and smiles. I try to smile back, but I'm sure it looks forced.

I glance behind me, trying to get a look into the office, but the blinds have been closed. I wonder, not for the first time, why the hell the police are here. Principal Thomas is about as law-abiding as a person can get. As a matter of fact, he's such a stickler for rules, some of the other students have taken to calling Principal stick-up-his-ass! Resigned to the fact that I'm not going to find out what's going on, I slump back into my chair and wait. About five minuets later, Jackson shows up, tailing closely behind the Sherif.

"Where the hell did you go this morning?" I demand. Jackson glances at me, grimace, and quickly looks away.

The Sherif seems to notice me then, turning between me and Jackass. "You know what Isabelle, why don't you come in too."

By now I am well and truly confused. "Why are me and Jackson talking to the police?" I wonder out loud.

"Because we live across the street from Isaac," Jackson answers, before the Sherif even has his mouth open.

"Isaac? What the hell does Isaac have to do with any of this?"

"You really haven't heard yet?" Jackson asks. "He's been arrested for his fathers murder," he says, grabbing my arm and pulling me along behind him.

"Wait!" I gasp out. "Coach Lahey's dead?"

Ten minuets later, after I've been caught up on all the details, I slump back in one of the comfortable office chairs, absolutely shocked. "Why the hell would Isaac do something like that?"

"Well, we don't know if he's actually guilty yet, he's just a suspect," the Sherif explains.

I nod in understanding. "Of course."

Jackson starts to give Sherif Stilinski a brief run down of what a dick Isaacs dad is, while I sit in my corner and stare out the window. And immediately find a pair of eyes staring right back at me. I jump in surprise, and nearly fall out of my chair. What are Scott and Stiles doing out there?

I turn my attention back towards where Jackson is lounging arrogantly in a swivel chair, just in time to hear the Sherif speak.

"I think we're done here," he says, voice tight. Sherif Stilinski is obviously tired of listening to Jackson talk. We are herded out the door, and just as I think I'm in the clear of receiving another detention, a sharp voice calls me back.

"Miss Whittemore, where do you think you are going?" I turn back to face the man who has spoken, and shudder. He's an aging man with a strong no-nonsense british accent. I've never met him before in my life, but the way he speaks sends a chill down my spine.

He beckons me back into the room, where Scott and Stiles are already seated.

 _Authors Note: So when I started writing this, I planned to do a sort of one-chapter-per-episode thing, but that clearly hasn't happened. (I also planned on updating regularly. Ha Ha! No). So since this has gotten off track, I'm afraid the chapters aren't long enough anymore. Please let me know if you would like me to write chapters that are slightly longer. Thanks!_

 _P. S. - I was wondering if anyone would read one shots. If you have any interest in reading that sorta thing, please let me know so I can post some! Thanks._


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